"The basement" was not the basement that I had seen. That was the "cellar" in the house vernacular. The "basement" was accessible by a door off the little used mudroom.

After the wolves had been chained and left to die, and I had sobbed my futile tears in my scrying room (not that I even really knew what I was crying about), I asked Marcy about the "basement".

"You don't really want to go down there, do you?" she asked.

I almost asked her if she had gotten that cheesy line from a bad horror movie, but I stopped, because this was IronMoon, and sometimes it was like a bad horror movie. "Yes. I do."

She took me down the cold concrete steps.

The basement was a huge, smooth, grey concrete box. No, it was a sarcophagus. Blank floor, walls, even the ceiling was concrete. Air flowed through several circular fans set into the ceiling and walls. The floor angled downwards to a line of circulate drain gates. This was reasonable construction for a basement.

The cages along the walls were not.

Along the right wall were six small cages. The bars were iron rebar driven into raised slabs of cement and pushed into the ceiling, with more rebar in a grid across the top. Rebar wouldn't normally stop a determined war-form werewolf, except this rebar had thin, flat stripes of silver wound between the rebar threads.

Any wolf that tried to fight their way through the rebar lattice would be so sickened and burned they wouldn't get far, if they even succeeded at all.

On the left wall were two sets of three chains: one chain led to a collar, the remaining two to shackles.

Two of the rebar cages had occupants.

The place smelled slightly of subterranean musk and dampness, but also of strong soap and bleach. It was terrifyingly clean. It would have been the envy of any hospital operating room.

The wolves cowered in wolf-form at the back of their cages. They looked up at me with pleading eyes. I ignored them. There had been six wolves in the original group: two were now caged, two were chained. Two were missing. Perhaps the others were dead.

There were was no evidence the basement was a place of torture. Just a prison. Along the wall behind me were freestanding cabinets. Cleaning supplies, perhaps. I didn't look. I didn't really want to see if it was also an assortment of torture devices.

Something about this room made me shudder. It was empty. It was a void. Some well-lit abyss where the Moon's eye could not or would not see.

When a wolf was banished to eternal punishment, the Hounds came to take their soul to a place where the Moon's light did not reach. Not because it could not reach, but because She chose not to look upon them. She sent them to a place beyond Her concern.

Marcy remained at the foot of the stairs. This was place was not evil, nor especially dangerous, but I didn't want to stick around either.

I forced myself to stand in the center of the room for a few minutes and take it all in. Feel the emptiness, the sterility, the way time didn't pass and air only moved because of mechanical fans. I didn't hear anything moving in the drains, not even the faint sigh or whistle of air.

The emptiness gnawed on my brain.

I shuddered all over. Nobody needed sophisticated implements of torment when they had this cement box buried beneath the ground.

All the rumors about Gabel had told of his cruelty and brutality. I shuddered all over again. Gabel didn't break bodies. Oh, if only he broke bodies! I laughed at anyone who thought that Gabel dealt in pulling off fingernails or pouring silver over the skin. If only Gabel stopped at the flesh.

Gabel broke souls.

# # # # #

The wolves howled all night. The ones in the basement, and two more distant howls from the wolves in the clearing. The howls pled for the Alpha's forgiveness, for his mercy, their sadness and grief. They cried for him to excuse their weakness and take them back.

Mercy from Gabel. Did they even know what they were asking for? They already asked for so much, but to appeal for mercy from Gabel. Stupid mongrels, did they even realize what they had pledged themselves too? It was like making a deal with some demon. If you don't realize what a stupid idea it is, you deserve whatever you get.

"Don't cry for them, buttercup." Gabel told my tears. He didn't sound angry, nor regretful. Just matter-of-fact.

I knew I shouldn't, but the howls still pulled at my heart. Couldn't I weep for what had been lost? Mourn what might have been? I didn't even know why I was crying, exactly. I didn't disagree with what had happened. I didn't even want to get all snotty and head-achey over wolves like this.

I needed to get a grip on myself.

"Buttercup, don't cry." he bid me again, this time with a little touch of how silly I was being.

My soft feelings sank into something as cold and unforgiving as that basement floor. What could have been? I had never been sentimental. Oracles could not be sentimental. We had to be open to the Moon, ready to abandon everything we thought we knew. Things we insisted holding onto would weigh us down and drown us in the Tides.

"Your last Alpha did not punish idiots and weaklings?" Gabel asked.

"He did."

The sheets shifted. His presence moved closer. "Then why are you sad?"

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't think it's about them at all."

His rough fingertips brushed the small of my back. I jumped and squeaked. My skin also jumped, but for an entirely different reason. The Bond caught fire.

Gabel was very close. Or was it just the Bond that made him feel closer than he was? My back was to him. I always slept with my back to him. Or that's how I started out each night. Usually by morning I was uncomfortably close to him.

His fingertips trailed over my spine, up and down, a tender sweeping motion. Every touch left light trails on my skin. "You should not care, buttercup," his voice heavy with contemplation, "They proved to be worth nothing."

"I know." I whispered through my tight throat. I wasn't sure we were talking about the wolves at all, but their songs rang in the background.

He traced a pattern over my shoulders, one way, then the next. I did not think his hands were capable of anything gentle or soft, but this was a delicate whisper that made my skin quiver.

"You should not be sad." he murmmered, his voice very close to my ear.

The Bond made me feel dizzy. Something roared in my ears like an ocean. I struggled, flailed, grasped. Gabel's body moved close to mine.

His lips pressed against my Bite. His hand moved over the dip of my waist and pulled me the few inches across the sheets against his body.

The Bond drowned my brain in sweet fire.

His naked body. His very, very, very naked, very male body pressed right against mine, every inch and dip and curve and I arched in surprise and unbidden pleasure. My ears pounded. My skin trembled as if his hand raked delicate metal bristles all over me. Wrapped in warmth and strength, I even felt the raised ridge of the brutal scar over his hip and the rise and fall of his breathing.

He nipped the Bite. I whimpered and arched against his hands, shivering all over with exquisite pleasure.

His hand pushed up along my ribs and over my breast. I made a small sound, squirmed against him, his lips brushed the Bite again.

I turned my head to kiss him, but his lips moved over my exposed throat. I breathed laughter. He could bite me through like that, but I wasn't afraid. His teeth raked my soft skin, gentle, light.

Teeth.

I opened my eyes.

Teeth.

He would have left those RedWater wolves to die. He would have thrown their teeth away just out of petty hatred. Hadn't he destroyed enough things to stand on? Why did he have to take the souls of innocent victims?

I yanked against his hands and kicked. My heel impacted his shin. It hurt me more than it hurt him. "No!"

He jumped backwards. I yelped and flipped backwards into the pillows, prepared for him to lunge at me. The silhouette of his form loomed over me. His hot breath pulsed against my cheek.

Fear slid in to replace some of my sudden burst of fury. The Bond squirmed and whined, thrashing back and forth, punishing both of us.

"No," I snarled at him. The courage came from somewhere. I didn't question it just then. His confusion and anger pulsed just as much as my own anger and fear. "Don't touch me, Gabel!"

The Bond punished me for saying that. I wanted to touch him. He wanted to touch me. I wanted to do a whole hell of a lot more than touch him.

Gabel slid back to his side of the bed, laid down on his back and said nothing.

The Bond had gotten ahead of him. Smug contempt added to my own poisonous cocktail of emotions. Arrogant monster, this toy was more than he wanted to play with! It would play with him if he didn't give it the respect it deserved. It already was, and he didn't even realize it.

I flipped back over and squirmed to the edge of the mattress. I expected to feel the Bond urge me towards him, to whine at me and whisper how I needed to be close to him, how good his hands on me had felt. But my other emotions crowded it out, and pushed it far away into a dark corner.

Gabel, however, felt the Bond (and his body) punish him the rest of the night.

######

Gabel hadn't slept. I had, but not well. The Bond hadn't chased me back into his arms that night, but I had been forced to be aware of his stewing, smoldering emotions until dawn.

I didn't feel any sympathy for him. If he was spooked, good. He should be spooked. Poor Gabel, he had felt a shred of tenderness for someone and it had frightened him.

In my scrying room, I turned my attention to my Alpha's question. I selected my runes with care: protection, inquiry, pack. I hesitated over the one I had chosen the first time I had asked this question: traitor. Gabel hadn't asked if Anders was loyal, just if he was moving against him. Now that I understood things a bit better and had met Anders, I decided the traitor rune wasn't right. Anders had never owed Gabel allegiance.

I pondered what else I had. Duty was an option. Then there was a rune I had never used. It was the same one that had a place of respect on Flint's right shoulder. The rune that spoke of "service", but a higher form, not just waiting tables and obeying orders. Something undertaken for a greater purpose.

Was that one right? Maybe. Politics were politics. This wasn't some game of divine chess, but did Anders see himself as fighting legitimate evil? Anders might have been moving against Gabel, but if he saw himself doing it for some greater good, it would have the traitor connotations Gabel meant when he asked the question.

I decided not to risk using it. Instead, I selected the rune for justice, or balance. That sounded more practical and less dangerous. I wasn't going to risk insulting the Moon by asking if Anders was motivated by some divine mandate.

Gabel didn't have me that spooked. Even if his wolf form resemblance something out of our darkest mythology.

I rubbed the little used rune with my thumb. Balance. Yes. Perhaps that was a better way to approach this. I had little experience using the rune, so I still hesitated. It might not give me what I was looking for. Not that I knew what that was. I guess I was looking for an answer to suit Gabel.

Because the Moon gave a crap about pleasing Gabel with easy answers. I could almost hear Her laughing.

I cast the rune into my scrying bowl without another thought. I did worry what it would show me. Justice and balance were like the truth rune. You might end up on the ugly side of things.

I was already on the ugly side of things.

I settled back and pulled my bowl close. The ripples of water pulled me towards them, into them, passing through watery curtains into the Tides.

        *~*The Vision In The Bowl *~*

I saw myself.

I immediately startled. The Tides sloshed around me. I caught my reaction, and forced my mind to settle and still. Drift with the Currents until things became more clear.

But I still saw myself.

The watery curtains evaporated and the rest of the vision came into focus. I stood on a large, old stone platform overlooking mountainous jungles. The rocks were smooth and softened with age. Moss had taken over the grooves between stones, and tendrils of vines crept up from the edges.

The sky hung dark and grey, the air humid, and the wind constant. I turned around to get my bearings. I couldn't see anything below except the tops of trees, but I could see that the sides of the platform angled outward, and that there was a set of stone stairs carved into each face of the rectangular-shaped structure.

Some kind of pyramid, then. With the pointed top shorn off to this flat expanse.

The other me stood off on the short eastern-pointing side, wrapped in sheer white fabric that fluttered in the breeze. Around her - my? - neck were loop after loop of a necklace. I crept closer. The necklace was made entirely of fangs, one after the other, tied at the widest part by a loop in a single long, thin piece of twine. The tail of the twin ran down her back and off the edge of the structure to the forest below.

At her feet were three of my runes: Balance, Courage and Love. There were several runes that translated to "love". This one was love of pack and family. Not romantic or passionate love.

A snuffling sound got my attention. I turned around. In the center of the platform were now two wolves, sniffing the stones and oddly unaware of each other. One was Gabel, one was another smokey grey I did not recognize.

Beyond them, on the western edge, were two men. I couldn't quite see but knew one was Alpha Anders, still wearing his collars, and the other was turned away from me and dressed in a long, hooded cloak of a non-descript shade of grey.

I moved towards them. I realized to my right was a small raised platform, well worn and abused, and on it sat Hix. His wolf form was large and dark, black as ink, and his fur ruffled in the breeze. His amber eyes were riveted to Gabel and the other wolf.

I followed his gaze and looked at what Gabel and the unknown wolf sniffled.

Flint's dead body.

My mind trembled. The Tide churned as I swallowed down a scream. It pulled, pressed on me. I stared in horror. Flint. His body a bright, tawny-gold spot on the cold stones.

Gabel looked up at me. There was no fur on his head. His skin had blackened and shrunk against his skull like a corpse baked by sunlight. He had no eyes. Some awareness peered out from the back of his head. Just traces of ears and his lips long gone, so his fangs gleamed in the dull light.

He shouldn't see me.

I almost screamed again, then realized he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the other me. His gaze went beyond me to the other me. The me that was... not me? But it was me. I looked back at myself. No, at her. I need to think of it that way.

But it was me. It was me, and even though I was me, she was me too and there were two of men in this vision and-

I yanked my attention back to Flint's body. He was on his left side, and the tattoo marked with the sacred rune to the Moon's service shone upwards to the dead sky. He had been dead for a long, long time. His body had not decomposed. His fur ruffled and shimmered in the wind as if he were freshly dead.

"Flint." I whispered his name, tears on my eyes.

He was dead. Had Gabel killed him? I looked at his body but saw no obvious injury. He was just dead. I tore my eyes away and headed towards Anders. I couldn't get distracted. I needed to hear what Anders and the other man were saying.

Other man? Was that a human Anders was talking to? I hurried up. I couldn't be sure. It might have been a human. But if Anders had betrayed us to a human, that should have shown up the first time I had asked this question.

The man in the cloak slipped away down the side of the structure before I got halfway there. Anders shifted into a wolf and headed along the long side of the structure. He slunk along the edge, head twisted towards Gabel.

Gabel lifted his death's head and the two wolves froze. Gabel snarled. The sound rasped and rattled in his throat.

Flint jumped up.

I yelped.

Flint shook himself from nose to tail, threw his head back and howled the song of greeting to the Moon. Tawny-gold he seemed to shine. My heart lifted within the vision. Then he sang another song I had never heard, but thanks to the vision knew: the ancient call crying a female leader to battle.

Trust Flint to know those songs.

Flint snapped at the strange wolf, then Gabel. Gabel whirled and growled, snapping at Flint's muzzle to silence him. Gabel lunged. Flint spun out of the way, and bounded off across the stone plateau. Gabel sprang after him, howling a Hunt on Flint.

Hix jumped up off all fours, darkness rising off his shoulders, but his amber eyes on flint and his canine face hopeful. Gabel howled, but Hix didn't move. Flint came up to Anders, snapped and swiped at the Alpha, and then sang the female's battle cry once more. Then he lept in the air, head back, tail arched, more like a joyful spring, and sprint down the stairs. His song filled the sky.

I ran after him. Pebbles bounced down the long stairway into the jungle but Flint was gone. Only his song remained. It bounced off the treetops like it was a bell tolling the hours.

Gabel's snarls spun me around again. Now he and the strange wolf fought over the same spot where Flint had lain, and Anders urged them on with a puppy's excited barks. Hix watched, his eyes moving between the three squabbling wolves and where Flint had gone. I frowned at the three squabbling wolves.

I could not help but notice that Gabel and Anders were missing a certain part of their male anatomy. 

Then I realized I was no longer there at all. 

/*******

Hello there, lovely reader!

I'm just going to put this chapter here. Just a little Sunday evening reading for you! I see we have not hit 1MM reads yet, so I do not need to eat any hats! (SAFE for another week!) 

If you want to see pictures of the "making of" this chapter, you can check out the most recent blog post on my website for a few pictures of my notebook. You might get a chuckle. 

For folks who have not checked the most recent update to SnowFang Bride: the book will be out later this winter (get it? Winter? Hahahaha... yeah. Lame) Stay tuned for all the swag details, because basically... stickers!!!! 

(I love stickers)

Cheers-

Merry

(Your loyal pantster)

****/